Welcome to the NHK!

Part One

The second Golden Week[21] had arrived, I recognized that the rainy season had ended in a flash.[22] The days passed and passed and passed at an amazing speed.

However, over the course of a month, all sorts of events had occurred.

For example, one night recently, I happened to run into Misaki at the convenience store. She handed me a piece of printer paper. It appeared to be a contract. “Contract” was written on the paper in black ballpoint pen.

Just a week before that, I’d made plans to meet the girl I’d known from my high school literary club. We went to a cafe in Shibuya and had a little chat. I was a bit nervous, but nothing of note happened.

On top of that, my father was laid off during a “restructuring.” My allowance would stop the following month.

Likewise, my next door neighbor, Yamazaki, also seemed to be facing all sorts of unexpected hardships recently. “My father, who works in the primary sector, has been hospitalized with liver trouble,” he explained. “I’m the eldest son. Should I take over the family business?”

In reality, it seemed like he had no choice. I thought his best decision would be to go home right away and run his family’s dairy farm and winery. Apparently, he had some deep issues with his parents.

“Even though they have money, they wouldn’t help me continue my education. They sent an application to a dairy school without even asking me. And so I worked part time for a year at convenience stores and as a security guard to earn my tuition for Yoyogi Animation Institute. They’ve got to be kidding, coming to me with this now!”

I didn’t really understand Yamazaki’s anger, but becoming furious allowed him to put off thinking about these problems. He acted as though he would simply not commit to anything, even if everything caved in around him. I decided to follow his example and just avoid reality for the time being.

Speaking of avoiding reality, there was still the issue of the erotic game we’d been planning. We were trying to push forward, even now, at a time when our project was almost utterly meaningless.

Truthfully, I should escape from my hikikomori life as quickly as possible and focus on trying to get a legitimate job; but for some reason, I put on a smile and told Yamazaki, “I’d like you to just leave me alone about the Lolita stuff, okay?”

“Sure. We can work with your tastes, Satou. I honestly thought we would be arrested at our little elementary school picture-taking event the other day.”

I don’t care about anything like that; I have to find a job now or I’m finished! I wanted to scream, but once again, I smiled and went along With him. “I’ll write the scenarios today.”

“I’m counting on you. The quality of the game all depends on your scenarios, Satou.”

“I know. I’ll do my best when writing them. I’ll put all my energy into making this erotic game!”

Yeah, this is the peak. Bravo! Or rather, that’s awful!

Nothing is better suited for escaping from reality than making an erotic game. After all, the genre itself aspires toward limitless escapism.

Yamazaki, seated at his two huge computer towers, started another speech. “That’s right. Escapism is the very essence of the erotic game. As creators, we have to offer the player an enjoyable escape from reality. The real world is overflowing with painful things: girls who make asses out of guys like us, girls who make fun of guys like us, that bitch who cheated on me with the manager of the convenience store, the community college student who toyed with my adolescence… all those painful things make this world a difficult place.”

The second half of his speech had described pretty concrete situations specific only to him, but I let him continue. Pausing briefly to drink his oolong tea, Yamazaki raised his voice even higher, intoning, “In short, real women are worthless. They are incredibly close to monsters. And so …”

“So?”

“So, as erotic game creators, we have to create perfectly convenient female characters, the kind that don’t exist in reality.”

Convenient female characters…

“I mean, characters who start liking the protagonist without any real reason, ones who get close to the protagonist out of pure good will, those kinds of characters,” Yamazaki explained. “Characters without any hidden motives whatsoever, who would absolutely never betray the protagonist. The kinds of characters who could never exist in the real world.”

“If you introduce characters so far removed from actual life, won’t the overall realism of the game be compromised?”

“It doesn’t matter. Players aren’t looking for realism in erotic games. Even if we stupidly tried to introduce realism, players would just get sick of it, eventually. If someone wanted to fall in love with a realistic character, they could go speak to a real woman and not have to play erotic games.”

“I see.”

“There are still techniques you should use to create characters,” he warned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you just stick in a regular female character and announce ‘she is a perfectly ideal heroine!’ there’s no ring of truth to that claim. You have to use strategies in terms of situational and character-based set ups to reinforce the fact that your ‘ideal heroine’ is, indeed, ideal.

“For example, one technique is to make her a childhood friend. If you make the main character’s childhood friend into a heroine, you can develop a believable bond, because they’ve been close to each other from youth. From this fantasy, you get a convincing argument for her as a perfectly convenient, ideal heroine.

“The second technique is to make her a maid. If you make a maid your heroine, then, due to the nature of her job, a master-servant relationship develops. From this fantasy, you again get a convincing argument for her as a perfectly convenient, ideal heroine.

“Finally, the third technique is to make her a robot. You make a robot into the heroine. Because robots cannot oppose humans, the sense that she cannot have ulterior motives or that she cannot betray her owner, making a convincing argument for her as a perfectly convenient, ideal—“

“B-by robots, you mean…?” I interrupted.

“I mean a regular robot. You make a robot the heroine of your erotic game.” It was a fairly surreal conversation, but Yamazaki’s expression suggested that this was all completely natural.

“In short, the main goal when creating erotic game characters is to set up a reason why the heroine cannot defy the main character. You do this when you define the initial situation. She must obey any order from the main character, she must listen, and she must love the main character unconditionally. These techniques can help you fulfill these requirements as much as possible.”

I thought it was best not to think too deeply about this.

In utter desperation, I asked, “Well, what about a classmate who is both a childhood friend and a robot maid?”

“That’s a great set up!” Yamazaki answered, a sincere look on his face.

“Well, how about the additional scenario that she was the main character’s lover in her previous life?”

“Th-that’s amazing!”

“On top of that, she’s sickly and blind and can’t speak, either. The only person she can rely on is the main character. How about that?”

“That’s absolutely perfect, isn’t it?!”

“Also, she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“Good choice!”

“Not to mention suffering from multiple personality disorder.”

“Perfect!”

“She’s actually an alien.”

“Great!”

This discussion continued for several hours; as a result, we finally decided on the set up for the heroine of the erotic game I was to write.

“She’s the protagonist’s childhood friend as well as a robot maid. She’s blind, deaf, and sickly; on top of that, she’s an alien with Alzheimer’s and multiple personality disorder. However, she’s actually a ghost with a connection to the main character from their past lives. And her true form is really a fox spirit.”

“Wow, amazing! It’s perfect! It’s moe moe!

“Hm …”

“What is it, Satou? You can start writing the scenario right away.”

“Uh … Uh …”

“Uh?”

“How the hell can I write something like this? I’ll do it my own way!” I kicked Yamazaki and went back to my own room.

It was already two o’clock in the morning.

What the hell has happened to us? I tried worrying about this, but in the end, we were just two no-good hikikomori types, after all. I decided to continue my escape from reality.

That’s right! Speaking of escapism, the best thing would be to create an erotic game.

That’s why I’d write the scenario right away!

Part Two

Several days passed quickly.

“A journey through love and youth made by soldiers taking a stand against a giant, evil organization …” This was the story that I scribbled, as it seemed apropos. In the beginning, it went surprisingly well. The words came fluidly. I was struck by my own literary talent.

Unfortunately, I had encountered a large problem already: The story I was writing was supposed to be an erotic game scenario—and as an erotic game scenario, it needed erotic scenes. In short, to write an erotic story, I had to fully describe lewd scenes. I had to write love scenes thoroughly. It was painful. It was tragic that I, at twenty-two years of age, had to write a wanna-be erotic story. It was too painful.

I had been locked up in my room for three days.

My work was becoming extremely difficult. My scenarios weren’t even moving along at a line an hour. The vocabulary … I have no vocabulary. My brain simply wasn’t equipped with the particular metaphors used in erotic fiction. I had no idea what to do. It took forever just to choose a single word.

More than anything, it was mortifying. What in the world was I thinking, writing such embarrassing sentences? There’s a limit even to escapism. I’d blush, sitting alone in my dark room. My heart would race, I’d break into a cold sweat, my fingers would stop on the keyboard as I typed…. I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t want to write erotic scenarios.

Man, I was sick of it. Really, truly sick of it.

I screwed up all my courage, though, and built sentences with the entire focus of my being because I feared that the second I stopped writing the erotic game, the real problems I desperately was trying to ignore would come back in full force. I would have to look straight at the painful truth, and that would be no good. It would, in fact, be bad.

That’s why I used the France Shoin[23] books I had bought as examples as I focused on writing the scenarios. Look for the right vocabulary! Find the metaphor! It was a tiring ordeal. I’d write and delete … Write and delete. My brain was about to unhinge.

“The man unzips his pants and drops his jeans to his knees.”

“Ah, ah, oh no!”

“Sister, sister, sister!”

“And her soft breasts …”

“… beating off…”

No good. Delete.

“Swollen.”

No. Delete.

“It rose high in a manly way.”

Wrong! Delete, delete!

“Piercing the sky.”

Are you kidding?! Delete, delete, delete!

“Soaking wet.”

Wrong!

“Salmon pink.”

I said, ‘wrong!’

“Shining wetly.”

No!

“Stuck wetly to the lower abdomen.”

Stop it!

“Slimy.”

No more!

“Heartbeat.”

I can’t take any more!

“The labia.”

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Shell pink.”

I said, ‘what’s wrong with me?’

“Milky white.”

What’s wrong with me…?

“Small breasts …”

“… fresh and young …”

“… sweating …”

“… harder …”

“N-no!”

“… sweet sigh …”

“… rubbing up against her …”

“… slightly pointed …”

Other words came to me: “grope” … “undulation” … “insertion” … “hips” … “from her lips” … “grinding” … “sweet” … “like a kitten” … “female body” … “tensed” …

What’s wrong with me…?

“Swollen” … “to the crotch” … “cute” … “urgent” … “hardened” … “light pink” … “want to see” … “okay, it’s fine” … “completely naked” … “nothing left covering her” … “an oval-shaped stain” … “mound” … “slit” …

No more.

“Right below the belly button” … “the private parts” … “make your chest pound” …

I’m done for.

“Swollen” … “breathing quietly” … “simple” … “the bush” … “overflowing honey” … “with her pointer finger” … “it’s almost like you wet yourself” … “impatiently” … “indecent” … “of the membrane” …

What about my life…?

“Swollen” … “piston” … “vulgar” … “crack” …

I can’t see my future.

“Swollen” … “sticky sound” … “wet” … “hot” … “mire” … “plunge in” … “foreskin” … “soft flesh” … “blushing just a little” … “licentious” …

It’s better if I just die.

“Swollen” … “swollen” … “piercing the sky” … “rising high.”

“Swollen” … “swollen” … “swollen” … “swollen” … “swollen!”

AHHHHHH!

I scratched my head.

Delete all, delete all, delete all…

Using a France Shoin book as a model was a mistake from the start. When fiction becomes the reference for fiction, it’s natural that the descriptions get stranger and stranger. I felt like I was going crazy.

I’m okay. Calm down.

Taking a deep breath to soothe myself, I decided to start over from the beginning, using my own real experiences for reference. If I did that, I should be able to draw realistic erotic scenes based on my own nonfiction experiences.

Real experiences, real experiences…

When it came to real-life experiences I could use in an erotic game; I had no choice but to think far back into the past. I needed to remember that distant time, five years earlier … that fun time from five years ago … my high school years.

I closed my eyes and thought back. Doing so, I soon realized that those memories would move in an emotionally difficult direction. I hurriedly opened my eyes and tried to stop thinking about it. However, the vector of my thoughts, once given a direction, could no longer be stopped.

My bright, optimistic high school years … my refreshing youth.

“High school” suggests slightly bitter romances, and society generally agrees with this conventional wisdom. I, too, had been in a romance; every day had been filled with excitement, like in a love simulation game. For example, I had liked that older girl in my literary club.

As might be expected from someone in the literary club, she was quite an avid reader. Because of that, she was a huge idiot. She once read The Complete Manual of Suicide in front of me.

I had thought, You should stop because that kind of behavior is unbecoming. You’re cute, so why can’t you just act normally?

The girl hadn’t shown any sign of noticing at all.

“Why are you reading that book?” I asked her, feeling I had no choice.

Laughing self-consciously, she answered, “Don’t you think that suicide seems kind of cool?” At the time, she’d just had a terrible breakup with her boyfriend, and she seemed depressed over it.

“Hey, Satou. What do you think of people who commit suicide?” She’d asked me.

“I guess it’s all right, isn’t it? If people want to commit suicide, I guess they ought to be free to do so. It’s probably not right for others to judge.”

“Hm.” She didn’t seem impressed by my boring answer; as though deflated, she dropped her eyes once more to the book on her lap.

After school, on another day, just when I had gotten sick of playing cards with her, she said, “Hey.”

“What?”

“Satou, after all this time, if I died or something, would you be sad?” No matter how I’ve tried, I cannot remember how I answered that sudden question. All I remember clearly is that several days later, she came to school with white bandages wrapped around her slender wrists.

Come on, give me a break. I have no idea how serious you were about wanting to die, but you should at least be a little embarrassed by this melodrama.

“You’re not just a stupid middle school girl.”

She replied, “Because I’m a stupid high school girl.”

She was the kind of girl who openly said this sort of thing, even though she wanted to go to the highly competitive Waseda University. Proudly, she’d drop non sequiturs like, “By the way, our problem is that there are no villains anywhere.”

She continued her explanation. "Nobody is to blame. Not Mizuguchi from the basketball team, or me, or you, Satou—none of us is to blame. For some reason, all sorts of things seem to be heading in a bad direction. It’s strange.”

“The only strange thing is your mind.”

“Don’t say such a cold thing to a girl who just got out of the emergency room. By the way, Satou, did you notice that even though none of it’s our fault, a lot of casually painful things happen all around us? It’s because a huge organization is planning a terrible conspiracy against us.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“It’s true. A little bird told me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She was the kind of girl who liked to pretend she was crazy. Despite that—and because she was beautiful—I liked her.

A few days before graduation, she even let me do her once.

It moved me deeply to think that the payoff for having kept on her good side over two whole years was that one single act. It was randomly exciting, yet it was also sad. In the end, I was able to do it just that once.

I felt like I should have done it a few more times. But then, I also felt that it might have been better for me not to have done it even that one time. I wondered which would have been right.

Ahhh …

At a trendy cafe in Shibuya, I asked her, “Well, what do you think?” It was the first time I’d seen her in several years.

The previous Sunday, without any warning whatsoever, I had gotten a phone call. “Let’s get together,” she’d said.

I left the house without worrying about it.

We were to meet in front of the Moai Statue. It was a bit touristy, but as we were from another town, there wasn’t any real problem. As soon as we greeted each other, the girl said, “I called your family home, Satou, to try and get your current contact information, but your mom mistook me for a salesman and was suspicious of me.”

“Oh yeah, that happens a lot. Those solicitors pretend to be a classmate when they’re trying to collect a register of names….” It was kind of depressing that after not seeing each other for several years, this was our first discussion.

My memories hadn’t deceived me: She really was cute, after all. And so, I was a bit nervous. In addition, I suffered from the fear of eye contact and agoraphobia—neuroses peculiar to hikikomori. Even after entering the cafe, I couldn’t stop sweating.

Seated against the window, the girl stirred her ice coffee with a straw. “Satou, what are you doing now?”

I answered truthfully, without hiding anything. I had a smile on my face.

She laughed. “I predicted that you might end up like this.”

“Oh, I’ve currently been shut in for four years,” I bragged. “I’m a professional hikikomori!”

“Even now, you have trouble going outside?”

I nodded.

“Well then, I have something that’ll be good for you.”

The girl withdrew what looked to be a pill box from her small bag and handed me some capsules. “This is Ritalin.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a drug that’s kind of related to stimulants. It really, really works. With this, you can be full of energy whenever you want!”

She was still a strange person, even after all this time. Evidently, she was seeing about three psychiatrists. Even so, her thoughtfulness pleased me, so I took one of the questionable pills gratefully.

After that, I became energetic. In fact, we exchanged an unnecessarily upbeat conversation.

“You were so normal during our high school years, Satou … Well, no, I guess not.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“I’m unemployed.”

“You graduated from college, right?”

“I did, but now I’m unemployed. I’ll become a housewife soon, though.”

“Hm, you’re getting married?” A young wife of twenty-four. Moe moe…

“You’re surprised?”

“In a way.”

“You’re sad?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think?”

We left the cafe. The girl skipped around me, laughing brightly.

Then, she said, “I’m really happy right now.”

She boasted that she was marrying a hard-working, national government employee who was rich and, at the same time, good looking. Basically, she was marrying the best person possible!

“Don’t think too hard about this. Don’t think about anything too complicated. I’m happy.” Her tone was upbeat; it seemed that she, also, had been helping herself to that drug.

As we passed through crowds of people, she asked, “Back then, I should have gone out with you. You really liked me, didn’t you, Satou?”

“I really just wanted someone to let me do her.”

“I’m really sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t have spent all that time playing cards every day.”

“The fact that the one time we did it, we parted soon afterward … that was rather hard on me.”

“Maybe it’s my fault that you became a hikikomori.”

“There’s no connection at all. It was more like some other big kind of…”

“Like the huge organization?”

“Yeah, that’s right! The giant, evil organization totally got me.”

“Me, too, you know? The evil organization ripped me off, too! There might be nothing I can do …”

Suddenly, she announced that she was pregnant.

“Wow! I’m so amazed! You’re going to be a mother!” I was stunned.

“That’s why I’m getting married. Now, I’ve succeeded at life! I've gotten on the right path. Now, I think I can go forward, all the way, in a straight line.” She was walking quickly, about three feet in front of me. I couldn’t see her expression, but I assumed from her tone that she was honestly excited. She was happy. She had to be.

“That’s really great. Really great. Really great.” I said the same thing three times in a row to celebrate the start of her new life with appropriate ceremony.

“It doesn’t bother you, Satou?” Her steps ceased.

“No, not really.” I stopped in place, as well.

“I don’t know why, but I’m in pain.”

We had arrived at a street lined with hotels. There were several couples hanging around who had their arms around each other’s shoulders, even though it was the middle of the day. I felt a little shiver of excitement.

“Shall we have an affair or something?” The girl smiled as she said this.

“An affair with a young wife! It’s like on TV!” I grew even more excited.

“I only let you do it once, so I feel bad for you.”

We stood in front of a hotel, directly facing each other. I really wanted to stay there with her.

We were both laughing. “You’re happy now, aren’t you?” I asked.

“That’s right.”

“You’re in a place where the giant organization can no longer reach you, right?”

“That’s right,” she repeated.

“Then, I’m going home.” Hunching over, I left the spot immediately.

As I passed her, I stole a quick look. She was crying. It seemed impossible. It should have been easy for someone as cute and friendly as she was to find a happy, healthy, and gentle life—something that anyone would envy. Someone that beautiful should be able to live a carefree life.

In actuality, there’s nothing to do about a useless, recurring depression. A person could become disconsolate or angry. Even if they’re enraged enough to punch something, they won’t find a target. A huge organization … They wish that some huge, evil organization existed. That becomes our dream…

Terrible things inundate the world. This world is wrapped in complex, messed-up, senseless, and incomprehensible misfortune and sadness.

She told me that her college friend had committed suicide, leaving behind a stupid will that said something like, “I’ve been broken by both dreams and love, and so I shall die now.” A classmate from elementary school had married and divorced. Yamada was now raising two children on his own and going gray, which made her laugh. Kazumi, who had been living with a man, went home to her family, Yuusuke, who was trying to become a public servant, failed his test. Yamazaki, who was making erotic games, had all his dreams destroyed.

“I’m testing my own talent. It doesn’t have to be an erotic game, but I’ll do … I’ll do something!” When he proclaimed this, drunk from sake, his future already was set as a dairy farmer, chasing after cows. I no longer could see how he could escape it.

At reunions and parties, everyone laughed and made a big fuss. Those events were fun, as was karaoke. Everyone had a good time and seemed sure that the future would be perfect: We could become anything! We could do anything! We could become happy!

These things were true—but steadily, very steadily, at a speed so terribly slow we didn’t even notice it, we were being run down. There was nothing we could do, even if we were in trouble, defeated, or crying. Every one of us eventually had some terrible experiences. The only difference was whether it would happen sooner or later; but in the end, we all would fall into some really unbearable situation.

I was scared. I was scared of all sorts of things.

I thought of my female classmate. Hey, I'm no good. I'm more than five hundred times worse than the public servant you managed to meet. There’s nothing I can do for you. I really wanted to go to the hotel with you, but it would have just made it harder for you. I wasn’t just trying to be cool or anything. Ah, I really did want to have an affair with you. It’s impossible, though. It’s obviously impossible. A pathetic hikikomori like me, who can’t even take care of himself, doesn’t have the power to make you happy.

Oh, I wanted to become a strong person, a person who could be relied upon, who brightened surroundings just by being there. I wanted to spread good fortune. However, the reality is that I am a hikikomori—a hikikomori, afraid of the outside world.

I don’t know why I’m so frightened, so frightened that I can’t do anything.

I’m no good anymore.

Next month, my allowance would stop. What would I do then? This lifestyle would have to end soon. Should I just end my life?

I shut down the computer I was using to write the erotic game scenarios. I decided to call Yamazaki and apologize. “I’m sorry, I can’t write the scenarios anymore.”

But he was already on the phone. I could hear his screams of rage from next door. “Why does it always have to come back to this discussion?! To start with, I came here with my own money. I’m not under any obligation to take orders from you!”

It sounded like he was fighting with his parents again. Everyone has their own problems.

I was just about at the point of truly losing the courage to go on. A line from a poem popped into my head: The end of the rainy season, refreshing, suicide.

I shook my head. For now, I decided to sleep. Changing into my pajamas, I tried lying down in bed. As I did, the scrap of paper on top of the TV caught my eye. It was the contract I had received from Misaki.

One evening, I had been reading manga in the convenience store’s magazine corner when, all of a sudden, Misaki was standing behind me. “By the next time we meet, make sure to sign and stamp this, okay?” she said, extracting a piece of paper from her bag. She passed it to me; by the look of it, she’d been walking around with it for a while.

That scrap of paper…

I’d already read it several times, but I picked it up and read again. It was, of course, an unendingly incomprehensible document, so utterly ridiculous that it made my head ache. However, with my emotions at their lowest, it also appealed to me in some strange way. So, I finally signed and stamped the contract.

Shoving it into my pocket, I headed toward the neighborhood park. It was night, and the moon was out. Somewhere, a dog howled. Seated on the bench next to the swings, I looked dreamily up at the night sky.

Unexpectedly, Misaki showed up, again wearing normal clothing rather than her religious garb. She joined me on the park bench and began making excuses for something I hadn’t even mentioned. “This doesn’t mean I watch the park entrance from my window every night.”

I laughed. After my laugh had evaporated, the distant baying of the dog had ceased, and the only sound left was an ambulance’s far-off siren, Misaki asked, “Did you finish making your game?”

“Ah, yeah, the erotic game got canceled in the end. How did you know about it, though?”

“When Yamazaki came to the manga cafe a few days ago, I happened to overhear him talking about it. By the way, what’s an erotic game?”

“It’s a code for EROA and GARIOA.[24] EROA stands for Economic Rehabilitation in Occupied Areas, and GARIOA is Government Appropriation for Relief in Occupied Areas. They were developed by the American government to prevent social problems, such as disease and famine, in the areas occupied by the U.S. after World War II.”

“That’s a huge lie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You being a creator was a lie, too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“In reality, you’re an unemployed hikikomori, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

I held out the contract. Quickly snatching it from my hands, Misaki jumped up. “You finally felt like signing it! You’ll be all right now, Satou. You can travel off into the wide world after just a little training.”

“Misaki, who are you, really?”

“I told you before, didn’t I? I’m a kind girl who rescues young people in pain. This activity is, of course, a part of my project. Please, rest assured, nothing bad will happen. Okay?”

It was a dubious explanation. Still…

“Anyway, with this, our contract is in force! If you break it, the penalty is a million yen, okay?” Misaki pocketed the contract and smiled blindingly. Right then, I started getting nervous. I had the feeling I had made some gigantic mistake.

Just how much legal force did this contract have? I should have asked my friend from college who had studied law.

Remembering the contract’s contents, I was attacked by severe anxiety. “Forget about it! Give me back the contract!”

But Misaki had long since departed.

I had been left alone, at my absolute limit.